


Bloodflood

by GuttedEmbrace



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, character death but not really, erotic deaths, fluffy violence, killing without consequence, tagging this is hard, this is his design
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:27:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23587630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuttedEmbrace/pseuds/GuttedEmbrace
Summary: After the Fall, Hannibal and Will discover they can kill each other with no consequences. Queue the mutual erotic killing spree.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	Bloodflood

**Author's Note:**

> This is the slow, tender beginning. More to come, my friends.

A rush of cold, salty ocean wind. The sweet, tight embrace of his greatest love and worst enemy. In the moments before they hit the water, Will realizes that he’s never embraced Hannibal before, not without being gutted. Will’s last thought is that there is no better end for their sick, twisted relationship than dying in each other’s arms, finally united in death’s embrace. This is his design.

***

Will feels the ghost of a horrific, shattering impact, and then nothing. His shuddering form is cocooned in warm, strong arms. He rakes in a breath, eyes flying open. Light trickles into his vision, the warm lights of a nearby house acting as a halo to the bright white of the moon. He hears the waves rushing and crashing against the cliff, and the salty tang of the ocean seeps into his nostrils anew. His mind is doused in frantic confusion, and only when he attempts to lift his hand to touch his dully aching cheek does he realize his own arms are wrapped around someone warm and solid. 

It hits Will all at once. They killed the dragon. It was beautiful. He attempts to wrench himself upwards, paying no heed to the strong arms tightening around him to keep him in place. He cranes his neck and looks over at the patio. There is no dragon. No blood, no dragon, just the shattered window. Why is the window still shattered? His cheek and shoulder are intact, no blood soaks his skin, gleaming black in the moonlight. A pang of sadness flits through his rattled brain; it had been so beautiful. 

But this can’t go on. This is not his design. His design had been dying in each other’s arms, swallowed by the vast and violent ocean. Will’s addled mind realizes that that could still happen. He releases his hand from its death grip on Hannibal’s shirt. He gropes around on the ground, finding a piece of broken glass with ease. Without thinking, he jams the sharp end of the glass into Hannibal’s jugular, twisting it after it punctures. 

Will leans back, shocked at his own actions. Hannibal gurgles, blood seeping out of his mouth, over his chin, soaking his own shirt and Will’s. Hannibal does not release his hold or lash back at Will. He simply brings his trembling hands up and cups Will’s face, blood steadily soaking the both of them. It’s still beautiful, Will thinks. Hannibal is beautiful, glorious, as the life pours out of him in a red-black torrent, his skin slowly draining of color. 

Will leans into the shaky touch. He creeps forward, presses his lips softly against Hannibal’s forehead, trails soft pecks over the dying man’s eyelids, his sharp cheekbones, finally landing on his quivering mouth. His taste buds are assaulted with a coppery tang, and all at once, he knows it to be the most delicious thing he has ever tasted. He is delirious, drunk on the taste of blood, on the lifeforce weeping out of this man, this monster, that he loves so deeply. 

Will strokes Hannibal’s soft, greying hair. He longs to see it back at it’s longer length. If things had gone differently he could have seen Hannibal with stubble, a beard, maybe even long flowing hair like a viking. He aches to think of seeing Hannibal when he wakes up, deep eyes sleep-soft in the morning sun, eyes crinkled in a true smile, crooked, fanged teeth bared. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, eyes locked on Hannibal’s.

Hannibal merely gurgles in response, blood bubbling over his lip. The light is slowly leaking out of his eyes, but they dance in joy all the same. Will thinks that perhaps to die by Will’s hand, in his embrace, not once, but twice, is all Hannibal could ever want and more. Will understands that this is the end of the line for him too. He has no intention of living in a world without Hannibal. He will hold this man tight until he fades, and then take care of himself and follow Hannibal into the dark.

The hand he was using to stroke Hannibal’s hair traces down to his neck, featherlight. Will feels the last sluggish flutterings of Hannibal’s heart before it thuds to a stop, never to beat again. A tear rolls Will’s cheek, and he takes a deep breath, smiling tiredly, soul exhausted. It’s time. Will sits up, cradling Hannibal’s lifeless body in his arms, refusing to break contact, and reaches for the shard of glass once more--

***

Nothingness. Will awakes cocooned in warm arms once again. He peels his eyes open, gasps in a breath laced with shock. He whips his hand up to Hannibal’s neck and feels a strong, steady pulse. 

“Am I to resign myself to an eternity of deaths at your hand?” Hannibal whispers into Will’s neck, burrowing in further as he says it, seeking comfort and warmth from the very man who has ended his life twice. 

Will is at a complete loss. This is beyond his comprehension. Is this his afterlife? All Will can do is reach up to stroke the older man’s hair with fervor, raking the sweat from his palms into the silky strands.

“I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. Hannibal? I just... don’t know,” Will breaths out all at once, a mantra of confusion.

“Nor do I, Will. All I know is to die in your arms, by your hands is a heavenly way to die. For an eternity, the privilege would be mine,” Hannibal rumbles, touching his lips to the sensitive skin of Will’s neck to get a taste.

Will gasps in surprise, his world narrows down to lips pressing against his thundering pulse with tender care. Hannibal believes this to be his fate, he believes himself about to die once again, and all he does is hold onto Will like something precious, puts lips to sensitive skin rather than defending his own life. Will’s resolve from previous attempts floods out of him at the intimate touch.

“Hannibal, you need to kill me,” Will croaks, clawing at Hannibal’s back in an attempt to pull him closer, to tangle their atoms until there is nothing to distinguish them as separate beings. 

Hannibal merely hums and continues his ministrations, edging towards a possessive hunger. Will’s neck blooms in vibrant splotches of red, his blood, his very lifeforce, rushing upwards as Hannibal sucks his salty skin. Teeth join the fray and Will snaps out of his reverie. He violently pushes upwards, clinging onto sturdy arms because he can’t stand to lose contact. They have been touching since Hannibal lent him a hand to stand with on the cliffside. To lose the connection now was unthinkable. 

Both of them sit on the cold concrete, held against each other, breathing in each other’s air. Will cups Hannibal’s jaw and pleads, “Kill me. Now.”

Will’s hands fall to Hannibal’s own, wrapped around his sides. These strong, capable hands that have cleaned his wounds, caused them. Hands capable of love, kindness, and horrific, exacting violence. Hands he loves and which he aches to lace through his own trembling fingers. But he doesn’t. He wades through the ache, gently leads those hands of terrific capability to his red-tinted neck and places them there firmly. He knows his racing pulse will bleed into Hannibal’s fingertips, enticing and inciting him to act.

Hannibal’s eyes are a fathomless abyss, but Will can see the exact moment a fire strikes within them, dancing under the surface. Hannibal surges forward, mouth crashing desperately into Will’s own like the ocean violently meeting the rocks below. Will tightens his hold on Hannibal, gnaws his teeth into Hannibal’s lips and takes and takes. Hannibal takes back in equal measure. Will’s breathing cuts off all at once, hands forming a vice-like grip around his throat, restricting blood and breath. 

Will would have huffed a glorious, relieved laugh if he could have. Instead, he simply devours Hannibal’s mouth, plundering with renewed fervor as strength trickles out of his body and his brain cries for oxygen. Will has never felt such ecstasy in his life as he does in his death.

***

The disorientation and panic accompany Will no longer. His conscious swims to the surface like a serene koi, his eyes peel open to regard the moon. He breathes in the cool night air and the warm musk of his beloved killer. Nothing to calm your mind quite like killing it. 

Hannibal seizes Will’s arms and wrenches him upwards, so he falls into Hannibal’s open lap and their foreheads clash before settling against one another. They both exhale shakey, exuberant laughs, swallowing each other’s laughter and echoing it back until they’re nearly in hysterics. Will can’t recall sharing a genuine laugh with Hannibal, except for when the man had barged in his hotel room all those years ago. A flash of regret shoots up Will’s spine, for all the missed touches, smiles, laughs. They took a far darker, twisted path, through dark, dense woods haunted by gnarled creatures. But they are here, now, basking in nothing but one another’s touch and breath and laughter, having bathed in the blood of a beast, tasted and relished the taking and return of one another’s lives. 

Will reels back, locks heated gaze with Hannibal, and breathily whispers, “Do you want to play with fate and push this, whatever this is, as far as it will go?”

Hannibal cocks his head to the side, gaze falling down to Will’s mouth as he speaks. A smirk quirks up the left side of his mouth, and he exhales sharply through his nose. Will drinks up his expressions, his portrayal of feeling so pure and unobstructed he’s intoxicated on it. His gaze falls to Hannibal’s own full lips. 

“To the bitter end, dear Will, for when have I ever not let fate have her due?”

Hannibal’s face remains beautifully open, Will’s empathy reaches out and finds a fathomless pool swirling with staggering emotion, eternal fire. Will parts his swollen lips for a kiss, his body reacting to the hunger he saw aimed at himself. Hannibal reaches behind Will’s head, cradles his skull, entwines veined fingers in sweat-damp curls and delivers the anticipated kiss.

It is chaste, lip grazing lip as Will’s abdomen is split, navel to rib. His skin gives way with ease, parting beneath the expert use of a blade, exposing viscera and releasing blood in great gushes. Will is soaked through with crimson in an instant, more spilling over as Hannibal plunges his free hand, squelching into Will’s body and up, up past abdominal organs, following aorta and vena cava through the diaphragm. Blood surges up Will’s throat and he splutters, gurgles, letting it flow and dribble over his lips and chin. His muscles give and he falls back into Hannibal’s sure grip on his skull, melting into the soft touch as his body is ravaged without mercy. 

His diaphragm gives way with a sickening pop, and Will’s eyes flutter as a fingertips graze his still-beating heart, delicately at first, and then constricting as Hannibal takes it in his grip. Will does not wade into the quiet of the stream, for the loving knife of Hannibal Lecter is something he wants to feel in its entirety.

“Darling boy,” Hannibal whispers hoarsely, “we have been given a great gift.”

Hannibal wrenches Will’s heart out of his chest and tears into the muscle with fanged teeth as Will finally plunges into sweetened darkness. 

Hannibal collapses, blood of his love on his lips, warm heart sliding down his throat. He follows Will into the pitch-black.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my 2nd ever fic! I am going to add more but finals are happening so it might be a lil while.
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


End file.
